Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 36506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 183(@200wpm)___ 146(@250wpm)___ 122(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 183(@200wpm)___ 146(@250wpm)___ 122(@300wpm)
The easygoing relationship I had with Reid, though, has soured. I see everything through the lens of him taking care of us and it maddens me. It’s probably why I’ve been taking on more hours with Ava and Quinn’s kids and even babysat for a few of their friends too.
I need space and money.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, jerking me out of my wandering thoughts. It’s a good thing too because my water is about to boil over. Ugh. Once I turn down the heat and make sure my noodles aren’t sticking, I check my phone.
Mom: My client is taking me to dinner tonight for my birthday. Smoke & Sugar. Yum! Now you don’t have to worry about doing anything for me. Love you.
Me: Okay. Love you too. Have fun.
The oven beeps letting me know the cake is done. I toss my phone onto the counter and grab an oven mitt to remove it. My heart aches inside my chest. So much for a birthday dinner together. I wish she’d told me about her plans before I’d gone to all this trouble.
I hurry back over to finish up dinner. As each second passes, I feel more and more sorry for myself. Why is Mom so absent lately? Why am I taking it so hard? Maybe this is how she copes with the separation from Reid. I just hate that it involves separating from me too.
“Something smells good.”
I shriek and whirl around in surprise, not expecting Reid to be standing there. How did he get inside the house without me noticing? And, judging from his still wet hair, he showered too. I must’ve been really in my head to not see him come home.
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says with a chuckle and saunters over to the stove. “Spaghetti?”
“Brayden’s been teaching me other better stuff to cook, but this is Mom’s favorite.” I chew on my bottom lip and skim my gaze over all the birthday stuff I bought earlier. “I guess it was all for no reason.”
Reid steps away from the stove and frowns at me. “Why? It’s almost done and smells damn good. What time is Amara coming home? If you want me to leave so you two can have a private—”
“No,” I cry out, shaking my head. “She, uh, has other plans.”
His eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”
“It’s no big deal,” I mutter. “I just didn’t know her client was taking her to dinner.”
“Em,” he growls, crowding me with his massive frame. “I’m sorry.”
His words, coupled with his closeness and my disappointment, sends me over the edge. I feel like a child when I burst into tears. Reid gathers me in his strong arms, hugging me tight.
Truth is, Mom hurt my feelings.
Every year we spend our birthdays together. Spaghetti is her favorite meal that I’ve been cooking for her since I was old enough to work the stove. My favorite is enchiladas. She gets the chocolate cake, and I get the strawberry. It’s our thing. This year, for some reason, it’s not our thing.
The more I think about Mom’s behavior lately, the more I break apart in Reid’s arms. I hate that I’m soaking his T-shirt and clinging to him like he’s my lifeboat.
“You’re okay,” he croons, stroking his fingers through my hair with one hand and rubbing my lower back with the other. “I’ve got you now.”
He lets go of my back and I’m vaguely aware that he’s stirring the sauce, so it won’t burn.
“I need to clean my face,” I say against his chest. “I bet my mascara is everywhere.”
“Go wash up, dirty girl.” He gives my ass a playful smack. “I’ll finish up dinner.”
My face heats up as I hightail it out of the kitchen. Our hug went from comforting to flirty and I am not hating it whatsoever.
Mascara is indeed smeared all over my upper cheeks. I go ahead and wash all my makeup off for the day. It’s not like Reid hasn’t seen me without makeup. He gets to see the bare-faced, sweaty version every morning on our runs. When I return to the kitchen, he’s plating up our food.
“I’m starving,” he says, hazel eyes burning hot into me. “This smells so damn good.”
Me or the spaghetti?
I hurry to grab us a couple of sodas from the fridge and then some silverware. By the time we sit at the table, I’ve cooled off.
“I feel like I’ve barely seen you,” Reid says before shoveling in a bite of spaghetti.
“Babysitting.” I shrug my shoulders. “Gotta make that money.”
He frowns. “You’re still in school. You don’t have to. I can take care of you.”
I bristle at his words. “I don’t want you to.”
“Oh.” He tears his gaze from mine to study his plate. “Are you mad at me, Em?”
“Only when you think it’s your duty to be my provider.”